


Cat's in the Cradle

by SundayZenith



Series: Alphabet Shuffle [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), An explanation for why Chuck wasn't in the Apocalypse World, Apocalypseverse (Supernatural), Bad Parent God | Chuck Shurley, Castiel Has Rainbow Wings (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester are Claire Novak's Parents, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Castiel has black wings, Castiel's search for God, Father-Son Relationship, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Gen, God | Chuck Shurley Redemption, God | Chuck Shurley is Castiel's Parent, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Leviathan Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Post canon, carry on never happened, good sister Amara, human chuck shurley - Freeform, meta Jokes at Chuck’s expense, slight body horror, some alternate universe hopping, sympathetic Chuck Shurley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29726319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SundayZenith/pseuds/SundayZenith
Summary: After Jack strips him of his powers, Chuck is left human and pretty darn lonely, even if Amara suddenly feels the need to Big Sister him to death.Chuck kinda hates Cas, who changed his story and constantly came back even when Chuck didn’t have a hand in his resurrections, but here’s the thing: Cas was kinda the only angel who actually loved humanity like Chuck asked (even if it ended up being a pain in the ass in the end), and while they were well past the chance to have any sort of father-son relationship, when Chuck sat down and thought about it, the haphazard rewrites Cas and the Winchesters made on everything weren’t completely awful, even if they went against Chuck’s plans. Besides, they were both human now.Also, Cas never changes his phone number.So… sometimes Chuck gets drunk and calls up his wayward son.And sometimes, Cas answers(Also four times and two alternate universes where Cas Really could've used a dad).--C -- "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin
Relationships: Amara & God | Chuck Shurley, Castiel & God | Chuck Shurley, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel & God | Chuck Shurley, God | Chuck Shurley & Lucifer
Series: Alphabet Shuffle [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087556
Comments: 15
Kudos: 49





	Cat's in the Cradle

**Author's Note:**

> "And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon  
> Little boy blue and the man in the moon  
> ‘When you comin’ home, dad?’ I don't know when  
> But we'll get together then  
> You know we'll have a good time then”  
> -Cat's in the Cradle by Harry Chapin
> 
> This got Way Longer than I expected. Say hello to the longest one shot of mine. Note- there's some timeline and universe hopping, and a couple of those hops are a bit dark (the Leviathan and Apocalypse World chunks specifically). Feel free to skip over those chunks -- the Cas and Chuck "bonding" "plot" won't be impacted.
> 
> Also: If you have a bad parent, you do not own them Anything. Not love, not companionship, not anything. There is Nothing Wrong with cutting toxic family off.
> 
> Also, spoilers?  
> \--  
> I’ve set a mini-writing project for myself: Set my playlist on shuffle, go down the alphabet and take the first song that has the letter I’m on at the start of the title, and writing something based on it. I’m not sticking to a specific fandom, not sticking to a specific writing schedule, just seeing where this little project takes me and how long it takes me to complete it, if I actually do.

Chuck swears he remembers every angel he made, every feather, every drop of Grace, every speck of light that went into his first children.

But, as time went on, he started to wonder if maybe he was a bit sloppy with his last angels — with one angel in particular. If, maybe, when he crafted his Angel of Thursday, he accidentally dropped the ball somehow. He had already made the earth and was really committing to this human idea he had going on by the time he had made his last few angels, and by then his first children, his archangels, had been squabbling a bit more and more often those days — he must have gotten distracted by something, his mind elsewhere, which resulted in Castiel — he’s not even sure, actually. Having too much heart? Being broken? Accidentally receiving an early draft of Free Will?

Whatever it was, he must have made a mistake with Castiel.

(He’s long had to swallow he’s made a few mistakes, that he isn’t exactly infallible. Lucifer, his most beloved son, was proof enough that maybe he should have thought up parenting classes or something earlier on).

He never really got to know heaven’s _other_ little black sheep — there wasn’t much time between making his last few angels and Lucifer’s rebellion against his humans, and after Lucifer fell, humanity was well on its way and Chuck just couldn’t wander a heaven without his Morning Star. So he took a step back, only interfering with his humans when he thought they needed a bit more guidance. And when he thought that, maybe, humanity would be better off without his helicopter parenting, he left heaven completely.

(Also, admittedly, he didn’t really spend much time with the majority of his angels, so he might not have even been on nickname basis with Cas if he had stuck around).

So yeah. He knows Castiel rose through the ranks, proved himself as a soldier and a leader. Yeah, he went off the rails time and again, had to be reconditioned more than once (not that Chuck approved of, or even really knew of, Naomi and Zachariah’s exact methods. Oh well, not much he can do about how heaven was run in his absence), but Castiel more than made himself worthy to save the Righteous Man from hell.

But then he went and fell in love with Dean Winchester, started ripping out pages in Chuck’s story, and now here they were, both humans, with Chuck’s grandkid (he doesn’t know what hurts worse, seeing his Lucifer, back before humanity and the Mark and it all went to shit, in Jack or seeing _Castiel_ , Chuck’s wayward son and the nephil’s chosen father, in Jack) taking his powers and job.

And Chuck kinda hates Cas, who changed his story and constantly came back even when Chuck _didn’t_ have a hand in his resurrections, but here’s the thing: Cas was kinda the only angel who actually loved humanity like Chuck asked (even if it ended up being a pain in the ass in the end), and while they were well past the chance to have any sort of father-son relationship, when Chuck sat down and thought about it, the haphazard rewrites Cas and the Winchesters made on everything weren’t completely _awful_ , even if they went against Chuck’s plans. Not to mention the fact that Cas was one of the few angels Chuck made that’s left (Amara let slip that Jack was probably going to try and work something out with the Empty that didn’t involve any stressful or tragic sacrifices to get a few Cas-approved angels out, but that won’t happen anytime soon. The Empty, Chuck guessed, was probably still sulking from losing Cas), and also, _again_ , they were both human now.

Also, Cas never changes his phone number.

So… sometimes Chuck gets drunk (very easy, now that he doesn’t have a holy tolerance to suppress) and calls up his wayward son.

And sometimes, though it usually resulted in shouting matches or petty arguments (usually aided by his now son-in-law, Dean Freaking Winchester, making snide comments in the background), Cas answers.

So Chuck keeps calling.

—

Castiel prayed frequently during his hunt for his father, in between aiding the Winchesters and avoiding confrontation with his siblings. He prayed for help, for guidance, for mercy, even, in his darker moments, for comfort.

Usually, he prayed in parks, sitting on benches between trees and before playgrounds. He didn’t linger, though he often wanted to, especially not after a fight with his siblings that left him weary and injured (his injuries would still heal quickly and easily, but it didn’t matter either way — a human, especially a human child, would not have Grace to heal them if they were caught in a crossfire. It is for them that he doesn’t linger).

Parks, hiking paths, nature trails — Castiel thought they might as well be showcases for his father’s masterpiece of earth and humanity. Humans would come with their families, children would form remarkable bonds or unshakable rivalries with each other in minutes over building structures out of sand, people would arrive to pick up trash on weekends because they wished to beautify the area, animals and insects would make their homes in the trees and flowers there, and every tree and flower breathed a life of its own.

It was beautiful, he realized. Castiel had always loved humanity in a distant sort of way that all angels were supposed to, but it was in these moments, where he watched the plants and animals and _life_ around him, that he almost truly understood why his father wanted angels to love humanity above him. Castiel found himself struggling to understand why his siblings wouldn’t all band together to protect it.

It was on a park bench that Castiel first admitted his doubts, to one of his father’s greatest creations, a human being. Dean Winchester.

He wonders what Dean thinks of parks.

Castiel is sure that if he ever found himself back in heaven long enough to pay a visit to Joshua’s garden, it would look to him like that specific park, with that specific bench.

Sitting on a park bench, observing it all, he never felt more connected to his father’s creation, and never so cut off from his kind.

He hoped that, maybe, his father was on the other side of that connection.

He hoped, holding onto Dean’s words about missing fathers.

Unknown to the angel, as Castiel searched and prayed with increasing desperation, Chuck digs out an old watering can and tends to his houseplants, thinking about paying the Cleveland Botanical Garden a visit the next time a convention or signing tour brings him near Ohio.

—

“...So. Have you written anything lately?”

Chuck cringes, wondering if Cas would find it rude if he made an excuse to just hang up without answering. It's not like the guy was the most socially aware, even after a few years of being human.

Chuck mentally curses Amara, hoping she picks up on it — she would come and go at random intervals, first appearing about a year after Jack took his powers, and overly embracing an Annoying But Slightly Overprotective Older Sister role (honestly half the time he didn’t know how Sam didn’t go rogue and kill Dean. Honestly, after Cain and Abel, Chuck should have stepped in and banned all siblings out of kindness). Right now, she was hoarding his kitchen, probably making her way through the tub of ice cream and a bottle of vodka he was going to make his way through first.

He had called Cas because he was seriously tempted to take her out the human way (not that he had any options other than The Human Way these days, but whatever, he can still damn good punch, as the Winchester could attest to), using the spoon she was using on the pilfered ice cream, and he knew he’d probably end up missing her if he did kill her. (The other half the time, when she wasn’t breaking his shit or being annoying _on purpose_ or stealing his sugar and alcohol, she was his best, and maybe only if you didn’t count Cas, friend).

“Chuck?” Cas asks when he doesn’t answer.

“Like what, Cas?” Chuck says back, feeling a headache coming on. “What would I write? The Supernatural books were my life blood and the last few _flopped._ ”

“Maybe if you hadn’t killed off Dean and me-”

“Tragedy is _cathartic_ , it makes the audience _feel_. Excuse me for trying to write a good story.”

Cas hums before saying, “I believe there’s a difference between a story that ends in tragedy and a story that, as my friend Charlie put it, ‘betrays the audience and doesn’t even make any fucking sense and is also lowkay homophobic.’” There’s a beat. “Actually, she might have called it ‘queerbaiting’ as well? I was making dinner when she, Sam, and Kevin were discussing it, so I didn’t hear the entire conversation.”

Chuck groans in annoyance — this is starting to sound like a conversation with Becky, and while they were still Facebook friends, he didn’t enjoy the reminder of his ex. It was times like this where he really missed Joshua. “In case you forget, I’m bi, and it's not my fault you went off book and fell in love with Winchester. If you hadn’t-”

“I was still a fan favorite for many.” Chuck swears he can hear smugness in Cas’s voice, and he knows what smugness sounds like. He personally watched Lucifer invent it and teach it to his siblings.

“If you hated my writing so much, make your own ending.”

“I did. And I don’t hate your writing — I found moments in your books to be quite enjoyable.”

That manages to catch Chuck off guard. “You read my books.”

“Not all of them, but yes,” Cas says. “Dean thinks they’re an invasion of privacy, but I still enjoyed the… _human_ perspective they give on my family here on earth. Did you enjoy writing them?”

Becky loved writing her fanfics. Marie had a blast with her musical. Chuck remembers feeling _proud_ that he made something that inspired them and countless others, though that pride was replaced by annoyance and indifference towards the end (he wonders if Becky still maintains her Fanfiction.net account). But did he _enjoy_ writing them?

He must have. He _did_ , he knows he did, at one point. It's been years since he’s written anything, though. He can’t remember the feeling.

“...Would you read them, if I wrote more books?”

“ _They better not be about us!_ ” A distant Dean’s voice came through the phone. Chuck groans again, almost missing Cas’s, “Would you read mine if I wrote a book?”

—

_The world is crawling with Croats, their “fearless leader” is a self destructive, self righteous dick, they were probably gonna all die, and there’s never enough toilet paper to go around it seems. So, resident fallen again Cas picks up a few unsavory habits. Chuck can’t fault him that._

_Shoot, in the past he himself had gotten a little less than sober (with effort) and he had shanked up with his fair share of attractive guys or ladies or multiple separate partners at once, as long as they were gone by the time he had set aside for writing. If the fallen angel decided that a little hedonism would make the day easier to get through (especially when the guy Cas gave it all up for wouldn’t even give him the time of day or any respect), more power to him, Chuck says._

_Still, Chuck kinda wishes he wasn’t stuck with babysitting Cas, especially when he’s blatantly “experimenting” with the pain meds for his broken foot, and the clothes he’s been wearing since before he broke it smell like weed and bodily fluids that might not entirely be his own — seriously, the least the Winchester could have done before Sam said yes to Lucifer was teach Cas about basic hygiene (_ before _, since Dean Winchester changed pretty darn soon_ after _, especially when the Croats became a problem, and wasn’t very concerned about teaching Cas good habits)._

_But Chuck was the one Dean usually trusted with the supplies, and therefore the one who he usually left back at camp to make sure everything was relatively properly distributed. Someone had to make sure their injured didn’t injure themselves farther, and moreover, someone had to supervise Cas so he didn’t accidentally overdose while Dean was away (he wouldn’t, they all knew. Cas would die for Dean — fact — and an overdose on what was technically a resource while at camp was not dying for Dean)._

_“He cares,” Cas said in an uncomfortable sing-song voice, when Dean finished personally wrapping his foot before leaving unceremoniously, and Chuck isn’t sure if he’s being sarcastic or not. It’s hard to tell, with his eyes being more closed than open and his grin being a little too bitter. Maybe Dean does still care about Cas, who knows? Chuck, and everyone else knows better than to nose into their little_ relationship _._

_Chuck, honestly, has never really gotten Dean and Cas’s thing — it wasn’t his idea, and he has no idea where it came from, but he’s not sure where a lot of things are coming from these days, and he kinda doesn't care — he can’t do anything about Lucifer, as much as he wants to, so why bother sticking his nose where it might end up being cut off. Besides, heaven was well and truly staying out of it, cutting everyone off, and, it seemed, that included Chuck._

_That was another reason he found Cas uncomfortable to be around — they all knew he wasn’t an angel anymore. The fact that it's been a week, and his broken foot was about as well off as you’d expect a week old broken foot to be, proved it. Cas’s humanity was a reminder of Chuck’s own._

_“Hey Chuck,” Cas says with a grin about a week into their shared bunking, and yeah, the guy was definitely high. Chuck hoped he doesn’t actually overdose — who knows how Dean would react._

_Wait, Chuck could guess:_ badly.

_“You ever think He hates us?” Cas asks, waving his hand vaguely toward the ceiling._

_“Uh… Dean?” Maybe, he doesn’t say. He’s not about to be a dick to the guy with a woe-begon crush on a man that hasn’t looked at him in a week and several broken bones._

_“Nah, God, I meant.”_

_Well, this is uncomfortable._

_“You think he ditched us because he doesn’t like us or something?”_

_“What do you think?” Chuck asks, deflecting._ Does God hate us? _Geez, it's not like a zombie apocalypse was_ his _idea. He still likes humanity quite a bit, in fact (even if he’s rethinking a few of his choices on how much hygienic upkeep they need)._

_“I,” Cas says, sitting up with clumsy flourish, “think he feels the same about us as I feel about him_ — indifference.”

_“...huh.”_

_“Yeah,” Cas chuckles, running a hand through greasy hair. “Dean said something about absent fathers once, but I’m not sure he qualifies — never knew him, afterall, so I’d say he doesn’t count as a father. I was just curious about you, ex-angel to ex-prophet. Never known you to be taciturn.”_

_On a certain level, Chuck appreciated the many levels of dramatic irony of this conversation. He shrugs. “Who knows.” Cas lays back down, rolling on his side, and Chuck figures the conversation is over._

_Unfortunately… “Dean hates Him.”_

_“...Yeah, I, uh, gathered.” After Sam said yes, Dean had actually prayed to him for help, going from begging to accusing to anger to begging again before stopping. Chuck got the memo, not that there was anything he could do in the first place._

_“Thinks if he just did more, hadn’t run off to do his own thing, been selfish and_ weak _, Sam would still be here.”_

_Chuck almost cringes at that, but Cas’s voice has an uncomfortable edge to it, like the fallen angel isn’t even sure if he wants to be sarcastic or genuine right now._

_“...We aren’t still talking about God, are we?” Chuck asks._

_Chuck watches Cas half shrug, still curled on his side facing away. There are sweat stains on his back and Chuck sees gravel on the bed, as if Cas had just returned from a mission. Something rises in him at the sight: of one of his youngest angels, dirty, nearly graceless, and just on the wrong side of high that he can’t push away his breaking heart._

_So, without a word, Chuck goes to where they keep their supply of non-drinking (something emergency drinking) water and fills a bucket, and picks up a towel. When he returns to the cabin, Cas is asleep, with a not yet dried tear track running down his nose. Hesitantly, Chuck wets the corner of the towel and rubs the tear track away before leaving the bucket for Cas to, hopefully, take a hint and use._

_Anything farther would have felt a little too close to a baptism, and Chuck’s pretty sure Cas would not be on board._

—

“You can share your shit, you jerk.”

“You can ask before taking my shit, you bi- you _buttface._ ”

“Maturity, thy name is Charles Shurley.”

Chuck makes a face, trying to telegraph every swear word he knew (all of them, in every language) on it. Lately, his fridge and cabinets have been more empty than not thanks to Amara. He’s pretty sure she isn’t even eating or drinking his stuff at this point, just taking everything that’ll get him drunk or on a sugar rush or _happy_ and leaving only vegetables. _Vegetables!_

(He can’t tell if she’s trying to make an extremely lame VeggieTales joke or not. On one hand, he’s pretty sure she doesn’t even know the existence of VeggieTales. On the other, when he opened the fridge for a midnight binge, he saw a tomato and cucumber staring mockingly back at him on the shelf).

When Amara only sends him an amused smirk, he throws his hands in the air and leaves the kitchen, very maturely _not_ slamming the door behind him, _thank you very_ much _, Amara_.

He goes into his writer’s den, mainly because that’s the one room she never steps foot in, half out of respect for his creative process, half because she wants nothing to do with anything related to his creative process (something about it giving her hives, and he really wants to hunt down whoever taught her humor and personally slap them because she isn’t funny). It’s the weekend, which he usually reserves for editing, but he decides, fuck it, and opens a new document on his laptop to start typing furiously in — his new novel has zero siblings in it, mainly for his sanity, and he’s not about to rewrite the whole thing to vent about his sister. Instead he starts on what he hopes to be a short story, diving right in without an outline or ending in mind. If it’s shit, he can always chop out any good parts and Frankenstein that into some other work.

He’s just getting into the flow of writing when he notices he has Instagram open in another tab (he knows he shouldn’t have social media open on his work laptop to avoid distractions, but he was hitting a major block lately and chatting with fans on Twitter and Instagram at least feels productive in small bursts). He debates with himself internally for a moment before clicking over, just for a second.

He sees both @Castiel_AngelOfThursday and @WinchesterRoadhouse are online (both accounts probably run by Cas), and he shoots Cas a quick DM on his personal account.

Carver.Edlund: _Tell yr son to tell yr aunt to stop be a thief next time you all play fix-it in heaven_

He idly scrolls through @WinchesterRoadhouse’s photos (most of the photos on Cas’s are slightly blurry, off center, weirdly artistic close ups of his garden and beehives, or are overly romantic couple or family photos with an excessive amount of filters). The Winchester’s Roadhouse was mostly Dean’s passion project, though Chuck knew Cas and a resurrected Jo Harvelle also helped keep it running. It was mainly a hunter hotspot, but it did well enough with those not “in The Life.” Cas bragged about it the last few times they spoke (actually, he used it as an excuse to gush about Dean, which Chuck had to admit was kinda endearing. It was better than arguing about plot twists for the sake of plot twists).

There aren’t many pictures, mainly shots of the bar or promotional images for food and drinks and damnit now he’s more annoyed. Cas gets back to him in a few minutes.

Castiel_AngelOfThursday: We don’t actually meet in heaven for our “fix-its.” Amara is just worried about your health.

Carver.Edlund: did she tell you that??

Castiel_AngelOfThursday: Yes.

Castiel_AngelOfThursday: Dean was worried about something similar, that I’d risk my health by over indulging in certain vices. Humans aren’t as durable as cosmic entities.

Carver.Edlund: dont you think thats overly controlling?

Castiel_AngelOfThursday: I feel as though anything you have to say on the subject of being “overly controlling” is slightly hypocritical, but what do I know?

Carver.Edlund: dude

Castiel_AngelOfThursday: 🤷🏻♂️

Castiel_AngelOfThursday: You could always tell her to back off.

Carver.Edlund: like yr some communication guru

Cas doesn’t respond immediately after that. Chuck doesn’t feel guilty — he’s not wrong, he knows Cas learned everything he knows about communication from the Winchesters, which is Do Not, Unless You’ve Tried Pulling Teeth First And Even Then Don’t. Besides, if Cas can’t take it, he shouldn’t dish it out.

Castiel_AngelOfThursday: Excessive drinking can lead to permanent liver damage, for a start, and Sam is very passionate about maintaining a well balanced diet for the sake of your health.

Carver.Edlund: are you texting amara right now? Istm…

Carver.Edlund: or is it istj now?

Carver.Edlund: and dont lecture me on the limits of humanity. I put them there, I know them 

Cas doesn’t respond for a long time after that. Chuck scraps the draft he was working on earlier without rereading it, figuring it probably sucks. He wonders if Amara is still there. Finally:

Castiel_AngelOfThursday: It's different, being human. It Is limiting. It’s frustrating.

Castiel_AngelOfThursday: But it isn’t bad when you have people to support you. Being human can be beautiful sometimes.

Chuck hesitates before responding.

Carver.Edlund: I wanted it to be beautiful

He exits out the tab and tries to focus on his rewrites and edits.

—

Castiel didn’t pray at all when he took in the souls of purgatory. Instead, others prayed to him.

He had nothing but good intentions. Heaven, earth — they were both sinful, hateful messes in need of a firm but loving disciplinary hand. A _father’s_ hand.

_(-Castiel-)_

God cared. Castiel knew this, because he cared, and he was God now. He would strike down all that deserved it, the ones that spewed hatred and cruelty. He would create a better, loving world.

He would be better than his father.

He desperately wanted to be better.

_(-Let us out, Castiel-)_

He could fix things with a snap of his finger, culling out the disloyal _(broken)_ and the wrong (he could almost hear the sound of a drill, but that’s not right, where would he _-Let us out-_ ). It didn’t matter what it cost, who was lost, what _he_ lost (blood on his hands in his eyes his mouth when did), because a _good father_ makes sacrifices and he would be _better_ . He listens to his children’s prayers (so many voices is that where The Voices are coming from not those are different _why are they_ ).

(There’s so much blood. He doesn’t know who’s it is. He should know, he should know everything, but he doesn’t know who’s blood is caking _his vessel’s hand his hands the hands of God he should know_ ).

_(-Let Us Out. Let Us Out. Castiel. Weak, c’mon, don’t you want to let us OUT-)_

He’s afraid. God shouldn’t be afraid. God shouldn’t need help, fathers shouldn’t be weak, abandoning their children, he needs to be _Better_.

He’s so afraid.

Why would anyone want to be God?

Why did he think he, some lost, _broken, pathetic, weak_ child, could be the father everyone needed? He needed help, he needed to get this blood, this grime, _how much damage did he do he didn’t want this,_ off, he needed-

Castiel doesn’t pray to his father. Instead, he turns to the Winchesters, to Dean. He knows Dean must _(-weak, leave, let us out let us-)_ hate him for all the damage he’s done, but Dean, the best of humanity, the one he’s probably let down the most, helps him (it hurts. _It hurts_ . It hurts _father_ it hurts he’s so afraid he’s alone but he isn’t and _it hurts father help me please_ ) anyway. With Bobby’s help, they expel the souls back to purgatory.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

They expel _most_ of the souls back to purgatory.

Castiel had failed, in so many ways he had failed, and he tried, he tried so hard to at least give Dean and Bobby the chance to run, but he’s too weak. He can’t hold off the Leviathan.

_(-late. Cas is, hm, he’s Gone. He’s dead-)_

_-We run the show now-_

The Leviathan destroyed his vessel, destroyed him, completely and utterly.

Unknown to the humans, as Dean Winchester pulled Cas’s trench coat from the lake, Chuck finished typing out a response to a fan’s email, stood from his desk, stretched, and with a quick snap of his finger, rebuilt Cas’s body. The Winchesters still need an angel on their side, and he’s kinda curious — the fan’s letter had mentioned something about subtext that he knows he didn’t put there, and he’s willing to see where it might go for now.

—

Chuck is at a convention, the first he’s gone to since he concluded _The Winchester Gospel,_ listening to a relatively friendly fan ask him if he could, please, just sign this one book?

He doesn’t miss the fact that it's the book where Cas was introduced, but given the fact the fan is wearing a trench coat with simple black wings sewn on, he shouldn’t be surprised. He briefly wonders if he should tell the fan (whatever their name is, he’s forgotten it already) that they’re close with Cas’s wings, but not quite right, though that would involve getting into optical physics, color theory, and explaining how angel wings were mostly the colors of refracted light, except for a few whose colors bled together like paint instead of splitting apart to make feathers that were nearly black and, huh, maybe there’s a correlation between that and Cas’s _Cas-ness_?

But Chuck knows nothing can kill a story faster than too much exposition, and he’s a little hesitant to talk too much about Cas in the first place. That would lead to talking about the “controversial ending,” which might not go well — enough years have passed since he published the final book that old fans have either distanced themselves from the series altogether or have mutually agreed not to start anything with him, and new fans are aware, thanks to spoilers, that the hero and his love interest die in the end. Still, there’s a reason he didn’ _t touch_ Twitter, Facebook, or any other social media website for a solid _year_ after the series concluded.

(Yes, it was the same year Jack took his powers and place after he went full villain. Yes, it was a lonely year. No, he did _not_ want to get into it, thank you very much).

He was in the middle of listening to the say how excited they were for his recently announced new book (the title was still pending, he still had a bloated amount of editing to do on it, and despite what his new agent was pushing for, he did not want to sign on for a new series, but he had been able to announce that, yes, a new Carver Edlund book was happening. It felt… good), when his phone started going off with texts.

He manages to ignore it for nearly a solid minute before he interrupts the fan with a polite, “Excuse me” (because, yes, he could be polite, _Amara_ ).

He opens the messenger app to see he’s been added to some new group chat (containing quite a few numbers he recognized as belonging to Not Team Shurley, so it must be a Winchester group. Wonderful). A lot of the messages are varying degrees of “Holy Shit” and “Congratulations!” so he wonders for a moment if it's related to that book Cas mentioned wanting to write a while back (Chuck didn’t really follow up on that, though he probably should).

When he scrolls to the top of the chat, he sees it isn’t book related at all.

There are two photos — the first is a selfie likely taken by Dean, given the angle, a close up of three people: Cas, Dean, and shy looking kid, around six or seven, with wild dark curls and freckles, all huddled close and smiling. The second has the kid again, standing by the Impala with Claire, Jack, and Sam’s six year old son, Robbie. It’s followed by this message:

Cas: Meet Grace Winchester. Jack and Claire found her while on a hunt together and asked for Dean and my assistance watching her while they finished the hunt. 

Dean W.: Kiddo didn’t have a family so GUESS WHO GOT ADOPTED

Chuck stares so long at his phone that the fan clears their throat.

“Um, are you… okay, Mr. Edlund? I look… sweaty.”

“My son just adopted a kid,” he says vaguely. The grin that spreads over the fan’s face snaps him out of it.

“Holy shit, seriously? Congratulations on being a grandfather!”

Chuck stands and gestures vaguely behind him. “I, uh-”

“Oh, yeah, go, seriously. I’m so happy for you and your son, go be with your family.”

The fan thanks him with another grin before walking away. He flags down a handler to let them know he was closing his booth an hour early, and instantly regrets it the second he steps outside the con.

Now what? Cas didn’t need a dad, and his other kids — Jack especially — didn’t want Chuck to be their grandfather.

Shoot, he hoped the fan didn’t talk about this. Cas and Chuck look, and now that they’re both human, biologically were nearly the same age. Even if Cas wanted Chuck in the kid’s life, it's not like he could announce them as his son and granddaughter without looking like he was full of shit.

Unless he plays up an adoption angle with Cas, he thinks to himself. Maybe- _nope, don’t go there Shurley_.

Chuck dials Cas’s number impulsively, which goes straight to voicemail.

“ _Hello, this is Castiel Winchester. My brother-in-law explained this ‘voicemail’ to me, so I know I can listen to your message if you leave one. Dean is making me promise to listen to them._ ”

Geez, he could _hear_ the finger quotes in Cas’s voice.

Chuck hangs up without leaving a message, hesitates, and opens the group chat again. He types out a simple

congrats! :Chuck S.

before muting the group completely, missing Cas’s 

Cas: Thank you :).

He probably didn’t really mean it.

—

Cas prayed again once after Metatron used his Grace and left him human. He’s not sure he did it right, and he realized very quickly that humans, real humans, were far more resilient than him.

He could still feel the pull of the profound bond he and Dean shared, but not as acutely as before, and almost not at all since Dean kicked him out of the Bunker. That, and his memories, are all he retains from his angelic nature. His body — not a vessel, not Jimmy’s body, _his_ — feels _wrong,_ like his skin had been stitched too tightly over his bones, the smells and tastes and sounds kept catching him off guard, and many nights he thought, irrationally, that he was going to die. His chest frequently hurt, more so when Dean reappeared to take care of the case he found, and he can’t afford to see a doctor to check it out. When he confided in Nora one night, trying to keep it vague because he isn’t sure if he has “job security” or if this is a “pre-existing condition” of Jimmy’s that he inherited that could get him fired.

Nora said something about “panic attacks” and “sensory overload” before putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder (he found himself longing for her to keep it there, but the rest of his body felt cold while the spot she touched burned long after she pulled away. According to google, it seemed to be something called “touch starvation”). She said it sounded like he was suffering from a broken heart.

She asked if Dean was his ex-boyfriend, and he realized she believed him to be a gay man.

Upon reflection (and quite a few confusing dreams, usually involving Dean), he found she might not be wrong. Of course, knowing he couldn’t just kill a homophobe with a snap, and not wanting to risk injury when he still couldn’t afford medical bills (Dean had been the one to wrap his wrist after the Rit Zien injured it. Even after a few days, when it felt safe to unwrap it, it would still hurt at random intervals, and he didn’t want to work with any other potential lasting injuries), he tried to downplay it, just in case.

He knew he was broken, of course. He didn’t need Naomi or Metatron or the Rit Zien to tell him that. Useless, reckless, he knew Dean had a good reason to kick him out. He just didn’t understand how or why his mental anguish manifested itself physically.

Cas didn’t pray for forgiveness or understanding over why it was so difficult to be human — he didn’t deserve the former, and the latter didn’t matter, in the end. He just wants to make things right and keep more of his siblings from dying. It's his fault, after all, that they’ve all been thrust from heaven.

There are moments where he lets himself feel pride over his work or where he can afford to splurge on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead of his usual morning burrito where he enjoys being human. It's something beautiful, he knows, and it isn’t a fault in his father’s design that makes him feel wrong (though things like headaches and urination and mornings and spines could have been better thought out, he finds). It’s just him that’s wrong.

So he tried to be useful by hunting, since Dean had encouraged him to give it another try when they last saw each other.

Castiel wanted to fix heaven, to earn Dean’s forgiveness to right his wrongs and to, for once in his menger existence, not break the things around him.

His father didn’t answer. His sister, Muriel, did.

He regretted praying when Malachi shows up, taking them both and killing her — her death is as much his fault as Theo’s.

He stole his brother’s Grace, and it flowed through him _wrong_ — it burned, feeling not dissimilar to how his skin sometimes felt wrong on his bones, but in reverse somehow — but he was an angel again.

He could be of use again.

He was also, more than ever aware of the limits of being an angel, how his senses were above that of a humans. He hadn’t cared that he couldn’t taste or smell as a human could before he lost his Grace, but now, when he tried to do human things like eat, he was _aware_ of the difference.

Unknown to the angel, as Cas tried to adjust to the stolen Grace within him, Chuck wandered into his kitchen and pulled out some bread, peanut butter, and jelly that was nearing its expiration date, not that that would be a problem for him, and fixed himself a sandwich.

—

Cas, remarkably, calls him first for once. Chuck stares down at the phone for a moment, stunned and mildly worried that the world might be ending again (yes, he knows he kinda wanted it to end before, but that was when his life wasn’t going to end with it. If it ends now, he goes out with it. He installed basic self-preservation in humans for a reason).

“Uh, hey Cas?” He answers the phone.

“Hello Chuck.” Cas sounds pretty upbeat, if a bit tired, so Chuck figures he can lower his hackles.

There’s a moment of awkward silence. A good casual conversationalist, Castiel Winchester was not.

“So, uh. How’s it going? Gracie doing well?”

“Oh, yes. She’s a bit shy around the Roadhouse, but around Robbie she’s very sociable. She and Claire recently had a ‘sisters’ night’ with the other Wayward Sisters.”

“Glad to uh, hear she’s adjusting well,” Chuck trails off, wondering if this was just a social call. Maybe, given the fact that Cas dove right into her as a topic… “You think I could come by and meet her sometime?”

Cas hums before answering. “We’re trying not to overwhelm her with new people all at once. Right now, she’s only really comfortable around her siblings, Robbie, Sam, Eileen, and Dean and me. Spending time with Claire’s friends was a big step for her.”

Ouch, shot down. “Okay then,” Chuck paces aimlessly around his kitchen (for once not under siege). “Listen, Cas, I know my parenting style leaves a lot to be desired-”

Cas huffs out a laugh, which Chuck graciously ignores.

“-But you really don’t want to coddle them. Kids can handle a lot more than you expect, and she won’t fly if you clip her wings. Metaphorically.”

“Chuck, forgive me for being ‘blunt,’” ha, like Cas has ever cared about his lack of tact before, “but there’s a difference between smothering your child, and providing them with a safety net, willingly trying to understand and work with their limits. I assure you, just because we aren’t throwing her out of the metaphorical nest right away, we aren’t trying to duct tape her into an egg and keep her there forever either.”

“Nice metaphor.”

“I’m _trying,_ Chuck.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Chuck leans against the counter, frowning at the wall. “Look, I know I made many mistakes that you don’t want to repeat, but don’t act like you’re automatically better at this parenting thing.”

Cas sighs. “I’m not, Chuck, nor is it my intention to imply such. I… I didn’t always do right by Claire or Jack. I’m not perfect by any means and neither is Dean. I’m just…,” Cas’s voice softens, “I’m trying to do right by them. I’m trying to be the parent they need and deserve.”

“...I tried that, too, you know.”

“Chuck… I know you didn’t want to cause any harm or be a helicopter parent, but you were neglectful, and it caused damage. A _lot_ of damage.”

Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Well. I’m trying _now,_ aren’t I?”

Another silence, this one stretching on, and while Chuck finds he doesn’t want to hang up, he also doesn't want to break it either.

Finally, “...Chuck, I don’t need a father. Not now. But…” and Chuck doesn’t even bother to pretend like this doesn’t sting, “...I know I value your friendship.”

“...Okay then.”

Another silence, though Chuck doesn’t let this one drag. “So… Gracie. She come with the name, or…?”

“Actually, yes. Grace was her original surname. She hadn’t gone by her given name in a long time, so when we asked her what she wanted to be called, she requested we make that her new first time.”

“Huh… Lucky.”

“Anyway, I called you for a reason unrelated to her, though I’m happy you’re taking an interest in her.”

“Well, she is kinda my granddaughter, right?” The question is a lot more sincere than he intended.

Cas hums again. “In a way, though all things considered, you’ll probably be more of an uncle figure to her.”

Okay, he can work with that.

“Anyway,” Cas goes on, “I’ll admit I was stalling a bit earlier. I meant to tell you- _Gabriel, wait I haven’t-_ ”

“‘Sup dad.”

Chuck drops his phone as he turns to find his youngest Archangel standing in front of him. 

“...How?”

“The Empty can’t hold me forever, and Jacky can be quite the politician. Even got to keep my powers,” Gabe’s grin actually turns vulnerable. “...I thought I’d say hi.”

“...I’m glad you did, son.”

Chuck calls Cas back later. He almost revisits the topic of him being a parent to Cas, Gabe’s “Dad” ringing in his ears. He doesn’t though. He’s always been a bit of a dirty coward.

—

_There was an angel coming. Part of Chuck hoped it would hit the woods behind the cabin he’d taken up residence in — he’d have to hightail it out of there anyway, but if the cabin remained intact, then so would his stuff in it. He had a very nice robe he didn’t want to say goodbye to._

_The angel hit the ground a little too close to the cabin for comfort — the wall was definitely damaged now, thanks to the aftershocks. Again, not that it was his problem anymore._

_Chuck gathered a few things — his rope, his journal, some toilet paper, and so forth — and prepared to snap himself somewhere hopefully angel free._

_Who knew how things would escalate when Mary didn’t make that demon deal? Well, other than him, but even he was kinda caught off guard by the mess that the war between heaven and hell made._

_Middle finger and thumb pressed together, a strange thought occurred to him — that angel sure was taking its sweet old time out there. He, hopefully, wasn’t a target, but still, the one thing demons and angels had in common was a certain lack of fondness for humans, and he’d say he had been doing a dang good job of passing as one. You’d think the angel would at least do a cursory check of the area._

_Curiosity getting the better of him, Chuck decided, what the heck, the apocalypse could use some excitement, and he peeked outside._

_The angel was still lying in the crater it made. Weird._

_Chuck wandered a bit closer, peeking over the edge. The only appropriate reaction for what he saw was, “oh, yikes.”_

_To say the angel — Castiel, he recognized, the Angel of Thursday — was roughed up was an understatement. He was twitching, jerking almost, like he was having a seizure, and in between gasps Chuck heard a steady stream of Enocian,_ “-I serve Michael and heaven, I do not serve humans. I am a heavenly soldier, I serve Michael and heaven, I do not serve humans. I am a heavenly soldier-” _When he tried to rise to his elbows, a tremor made him collapse again, and Chuck saw streams of blood trickling down from his temples and the corner of his left eye._

_It was the damage to his trueform that really made Chuck cringe, though. It looked like someone had drilled tiny holes into it so many times that his Grace didn’t know where to start with healing, if it would heal at all. Chuck didn’t think even he could fix this if he tried. This looked like they could form permanent scars on his trueform._

_Chuck was standing to Castiel’s left. It seemed like Castiel couldn’t see him._

_“Geez, who’d you piss off?” Chuck asked, not really expecting an answer._

_His eye might be damaged, but it seemed Castiel’s ears were functioning just fine. The angel scrambled to his hands and knees, and quicker than Chuck expected given his state, Castiel’s hand shot forward, catching Chuck’s ankle._

_“Oh sh-” Chuck was dragged into the crater. He saw a flash and kicked out blindly, knocking the angel blade out of Castiel’s hand. Scrambling back, Chuck watched Castiel collapse again, curling into a ball this time._

_“What_ happened _to you?”_

_Castiel raised his face, and blinked bemusedly at Chuck, as if he didn’t understand the question. His left eye was cloudy,_ _the damage to his trueform was damaging his vessel as well, Chuck guessed. His left eye was completely blind._

_“I don’t…” Castiel’s voice was thick, awkward, as if his tongue was unused to speaking English. “Nothing happened to me. I…” he uncurled slightly, his wavering voice growing stronger. Chuck wasn’t sure he liked it. “_ I _happen to_ others. _”_

_Castiel’s face did something, made some cross between a grin and a snarl, but he cheek started ticking. Without thinking, Chuck pulled the sleeve of his robe over his thumb and wiped away the blood from Castiel’s eye. They both flinched back._

_“Castiel, I, uh. I hate to say it, but…” Chuck raised his bloody sleeve up. “Looks like something did happen.”_

_Castiel’s face fell, his hand flying to his face to clutch his eye, as if he hadn’t even been aware of its damage until now. “I- no, nothing would need to- I am a soldier of heaven, I do Michael’s will, I don’t- There’s no need-”_

_The angel seemed caught in his own mental loop, and Chuck scrambled out of the crater._ Michael….

_Chuck’s heart ached, thinking about his Archangels, who they’ve become,_ what _they’ve become. He never wanted this._

_At this point, there wasn’t anything he could do, he told himself. His children wouldn’t listen if he returned to heaven now. He might make this worse._

_How many angels ended up like Castiel?_

_Chuck steps on something long and thin — Castiel’s angel blade. He considered picking it up, putting Castiel out of his misery first. If he couldn’t heal the angel, he could at least end his suffering, afterall._

_Castiel stopped muttering, mostly stopped shaking, just stared up at him as if he knew what Chuck was thinking. His face was impassive._

_Chuck couldn’t._

_He kicked the angel blade into the crater and walked far enough away that Castiel definitely couldn’t see him. With a snap, he left._

_He left the entire dimension._

_It was too scarred for him to stand, too broken for him to try to fix, and too painful for him to consider undoing._

_At least for now._

—

Chuck had been invited to a virtual wine date, a semi regular occurrence for Cas and a few of his friends. It was called a virtual _wine_ date, but for the most part, attendees just got smashed over Skype with whatever boose they had on hand. 

Miraculously, it had been going really well.

Cas had a beer, Amara and him were splitting a white russian she brought while Gabriel drank something that looked so sugary it made Chuck’s teeth hurt through the screen (maybe he should have introduced an evolution in humans so they had a third set of teeth at some point, instead of keeping it at two. Oh well, hindsight and all that, hopefully Jack would consider doing that. The kid liked sugar enough to understand its effects on teeth over time, after). Rowena, the only one who actually drank wine (and the one who probably made “virtual wine date” the official name of these get togethers), gave them an overview of how hell was running before asking about their love lives.

Spoiler, terribly, for Chuck.

“He was so pretentious, too. Acted like fanfic was ‘stealing’ and ‘not true art.’ That’s the last time I try dating another writer,” Chuck rants. Amara slings a sympathetic arm over his shoulder, taking his failed date personally, even if it wasn’t serious.

He was seriously swearing off other writers — even Becky, someone who understood the craft, stepped on his creative toes.

Rowena made a sympathetic sound (or maybe it was an amused one, he didn’t care at this point). They all then tuned out Gabriel’s latest escapades.

From what he heard, this is a smaller gathering than usual. Usually Charlie would join, sitting with Cas physically, for half an hour before running off to play video games with Dean or Sam. Garth the werewolf and Donna, who sometimes brought along Jody, also usually joined, but apparently Garth was having a movie night with his kids and Donna was stuck at work. Crowley had a habit of dropping in as well, usually under the pretense of wanting to annoy everyone, or at least Cas specifically.

Apparently, Balthazar and Hannah, rescued from the Empty around the same time as Gabriel, also joined, though Hannah didn’t drink. Balthazar, Chuck heard, was the only other one to actually drink wine. Where Gabriel managed to sneak past the Empty with his powers intact, Balthazar and Hannah both also had to fork over their Grace and were now human. Still, it was impressive how Jack managed to negotiate their permanent leaves (as humans, they’d be heaven’s when they died, not the Empty’s).

That said, the Empty was getting a little short tempered over what felt like such frequent interruptions, and was especially sore about Gabe pulling a fast one on it, so it would actually be a while before they got the likes of Samandriel, Uriel, Joshua, and a few others out.

Chuck hoped it wouldn’t be one of those Super Long For A Human long whiles. He missed Joshua, and maybe it wouldn’t hurt if he tried to make amends with a few other angels.

That said, making amends was hard when they were intent on avoiding you — he guessed Hannah and Balthazar weren’t feeling super willing to get hammered with their fallen God.

“Dean and I are celebrating our wedding anniversary in about a month,” Cas was saying. We were thinking of holding a ‘get together’ at the Roadhouse — Rowena, Amara, Chuck, you’re all invited to come, of course.”

Chuck blinked in surprise at the invite, only half hearing the bickering going on between Cas and Gabe (something about Gabe and a prank involving giving the Roadhouse a temporary makeover that Cas was still annoyed over).

Cas actually wanted him to come by for his anniversary party?

Wait — his and _Dean’s_ anniversary party. Right.

“You sure _your husband_ won’t get all territorial?” He asks sarcastically.

Cas had the audacity to roll his eyes at that. “Oh, I’m not worried about _him._ ”

“I won’t punch him in the face again.” No promises, though.

Cas rolled his eyes again before the topic moves on.

Eventually, Rowena ducks out to handle something in hell, and Gabe poofs off, probably to plan another prank for his apparent lack of invite. Amara leaves as well, probably to avoid cleaning up the plates from dinner (she cleans off the last of the white russian, he notes. He is _so_ getting back at her one of these days).

This leaves Cas and Chuck alone.

“So, whatever happened to worrying about our livers?” Chuck asks.

Cas gives him a bitchface to rival Sam’s. “Indulging in alcohol every now and then in healthy moderation isn’t bad for you.”

“Right, right.” In truth, Chuck had been cutting back over the last year, and he knew from past phone calls that Dean was cutting back as well. Healthy moderation, and all that.

“I still can’t believe you married him,” Chuck says suddenly. “I mean, I _can._ I have _eyes,_ I could see as well as anyone how you two were pining for each other, but I can’t believe you went rogue and fell in love with him like that.”

Cas huffs. “And you expect me to believe you didn’t have a little crush on him at first as well?”

Well that caught Chuck off guard. “Wha-”

“I read the books, Chuck.” Cas was rolling his eyes so often that Chuck was surprised he wasn’t getting dizzy.

“I- Yeah- Well- Well, whatever. _You_ weren’t the author insert character.”

Cas laughs again before a pensive look takes over his face. “Chuck… I honestly have no idea why I was… so difficult to control.”

“Frankly, I don’t either.”

“...Did I really come off the line cracked?”

Were they drunk, Chuck wondered. This seems like a conversation they should have while drunk.

“I don’t know,” Chuck finally says. “Look, I’m sorry I, you know, went there. I was a villain, I had to hit where it hurts, you know how it is.”

“...Right.”

“Cas,” Chuck sighs. He needs to say it. If they were going for friendship, he had to at least try not to be a dick, “There isn’t anything wrong with you.”

“I know.”

“I- oh. You do?”

“Sam insisted that Dean and I seriously look into mental health care, and we did. I know I am worthy of love, that I am not a bad person even if I have made horrible mistakes in the past. I know I can hold myself accountable without hurting myself, and I know I don’t need to always be useful to be worth something. I know I’m… different. Different from my siblings, from Sam and Dean, from you, and that isn’t a bad thing. There isn’t anything wrong with me.”

“Oh.” Chuck isn’t sure what to say to that, “well, great! That’s… that’s all true, you know. It is. Hey, is that drink actually alcoholic? Your sentences are weirdly coherent.”

“I have a strong tolerance, even as a human. Chuck, it might not hurt for you to look into mental health care as well.”

Chuck scoffs. “And say what? ‘Hey, can we skip the Getting To Know Each Other bit? If you’ve ever read the Bible, you have a good grasp of my past.’”

“I still struggle with being human, even after several years. I know you must be struggling as well.”

“Writing is free therapy,” Chuck says, changing courses. “My last book was super cathartic, you know.”

Cas signs, but seems willing to go with it. “I know. It's set to hit shelves about one month after mine does, right? In November?”

Chuck purks up at that. “You actually wrote a book?”

“Yes, I told you I was. It comes out in september, a few days before our anniversary, hence why Dean and I are holding a party — to celebrate our union _and_ my book.”

“Cas, dude, that’s- that’s totally stealing my thunder.”

Cas huffs. “It's not like people will connect us. Even if you weren’t writing under a pseudonym, we use different surnames in our day to day lives.”

“Still,” Chuck says petulantly. “...Congrats on your debut, for the record.”

“Congratulations to you as well for your new book.”

They say their good nights after that. Before going to bed, Chuck’s phone vibrates.

Cas: Here’s the contact information for the therapist we go to. She specializes in the supernatural and is very understanding.

Chuck makes no promises but doesn’t delete the text.

—

Cas didn’t pray when he allowed Lucifer to use him as a vessel. He didn’t pray after, either, when he was freed from Lucifer and more or less carried back to the Bunker and placed in one of its many beds by Dean. He didn’t need to pray at all.

All this time, and God was just a phone call away.

He didn’t want to speak with Chuck, didn’t want to speak with anyone, and he knew Chuck didn’t want to speak to him either. Chuck didn’t care, not about him.

Not about useless, reckless, expendable Castiel.

Chuck had loved Lucifer, had been willing to speak with Lucifer. Chuck had even used “I” statements to speak with Lucifer. They had used Cas’s body (not a vessel anymore. Jimmy was gone, and even when Lucifer was piloting him, he was alone in there).

Lucifer was Chuck’s son. Cas was just a tool. He understood that.

He wished he didn’t feel so tired.

Unknown to him, Chuck was walking aimlessly down the halls, caught up in it all. Thinking about Lucifer, yes, but also about Michael and Raphael and Gabriel, thinking about Amara, about how he didn’t want to be dragged into this mess and how no matter what he did, if he was hands on or hands off, he always did something wrong so why should be bother at all anymore.

And yes, Chuck was thinking about little Castiel, with his dark stained wings, being led by Gabriel down a shore and being told, “Don’t step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish.” And Chuck wonders if, maybe, it would have been better for them all if he just let Cas accidentally step on that dang fish.

—

Teleportation is weird as a human. Honestly, it's a little unpleasant if anything — there’s an uncomfortable knot in his stomach and it takes a moment for him to reorient himself. Granted, nerves might also play a part in this. He’s mature enough to acknowledge that walking into a bar full of people who knew you were God and that you went a little off the deep end for a while there would make anyone a little nauseous. Amara shoots him a look, but he waves her off.

If he could walk into a convention and keep his head high after publishing something like “Bugs,” he can handle a little party.

In his hand is a brand-spanking-new copy of Cas’s new book. The thing is about as thick and heavy as a brick and in spite of what he might have assumed isn’t a novel at all. It's more of a cross between a gardening manual and a compacted history of gardening through the ages, and honestly he’s barely cracked the spine, but he also doesn’t plan on using it as an oversized paperweight. He used to love gardening, after all, and this book is as good a reason as any to get back into it.

He’s reread the intro quite a few times, though. A few paragraphs stand out to him in particular.

_I didn’t fall in love on a park bench, nor did I realize I was in love on one. I didn’t even start to doubt my role in existence for the first time on one._

_I didn’t even find my father on one._

_I did start to fall in love with humanity on one though. The man who I would go on to marry sat beside me, and allowed me to share my doubts, doubts I wasn’t supposed to have at all according to my family. I started to realize just how profound the bond I share with him was._

_Years later, when the world didn’t end and we were married, in between calls from our oldest daughter, our son, and calls from a father I was starting to realize was flawed but still had it in him to care, my husband and I were standing in the garden we built together in our own home. I was speaking about how I would get lost in heaven’s garden when I was new, running from my brothers, and how I not only felt a connection to my fellow humans while in nature, I feel a connection to my old family as well. He listened, and after a while he turned to me and said, “Ever considered writing a book about this stuff?”_

_I hadn’t, but maybe there was some merit to the idea of creating a document of some sort to show just why I feel this connection. Even if he was a bit vague about what he meant by “this stuff.”_

It almost reminded Chuck of Cas’s prayers.

Chuck nodded at his sister before pushing the door open. He was almost immediately run over by a small crowd of children.

“What the-”

“Cassie, Sammy, careful there- oh, hello,” the werewolf, Garth, appeared. “Sorry about that — they haven’t started shifting yet, but they still feel the urge to run about like wolves, and when one kid starts running in the halls, the rest just seem to need to follow. Kids, am Iright?”

“Uh…”

Garth helped Chuck righten himself before wandering off after the kids, who had run off again.

He and Amara shared a bemused look before walking fully into the Roadhouse. It was a nice place, all in all, if a bit crowded with the strays the Winchesters kept picking up. He recognized Jo and Kevin, chatting with Sam and a reluctant looking Balthazar. Off to the side was Gabe, who either managed to secure an invite or decided to just show up anyway, seemed to be on the receiving end of a scolding from Jody, a few other older hunters watching nearby. Claire, Kaia, and the other Wayward Sisters were drinking and laughing at something or other. Chuck was mildly grateful Claire hadn’t noticed him yet — he had no doubt she would be all too eager to tear him a new one if they crossed paths.

Jack, standing slightly off to the side with a couple others, did notice him. They made eye contact for a moment before Jack gave an awkward little half wave before turning back to Charlie and two blonde women. The older one, Chuck realized after a long moment, was Cas’s slightly dazed looking old Gas’N’Sip boss — Nina? Natasha? Nora? Something like that — and the other-

“Jess Moore?”

“Yep.”

Chuck jumped and whirled around to find an entirely too happy looking Dean Winchester. “Jack gave her a chance to come back as well, and she took it, finishing her nursing degree. She and Charlie have been bonding over having both been fridged as a source of manpain.”

“Ah, come _on-_ ”

“She and Sammy are through as an item, seeing as he’s married and like twice her age now, though they and Eileen still hang from time to time. It's sweet.”

“...Right. Cool.” So this was awkward. Dean’s overly saccharine grin told Chuck he hadn’t forgotten the whole Trying to Nix the World thing. Superb. “...So, where’s the actual man of the hour?”

Dean gave a genuine laugh at that. “He told you about how Gracie is with crowds, right?”

“Yep.”

“She’s been doing well, but they both needed to recharge the social batteries. Speaking of, think you could do us all a favor?”

“Depends…”

“Nothing painful, don’t worry,” Dean says. “Cas doesn’t see the point in book signing. Think you can convince him to fork over a few autographs?”

“He doesn’t- _what?_ ”

“ _I know._ You have any idea how much work he put into that? The last chapter ain’t even a chapter, it's like thirty pages of work citations.”

“Dude, seriously.”

“Exactly. Convince him to be a little vain for one evening, and I’ll only have you suffer under Charlie and Jess’s wrath for like five minutes.”

Chuck gives him a dubious look.

“Chuck, trust me, they _will_ drag Gabe into you and you _will_ walk out of here paintbombed and covered in feathers. The worst they can do in just five minutes is make you cry and promise to join in a LARPing thing, which you’ll do because Charlie probably has magic powers to rival Rowena.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

Dean only chuckles at that and half pushes Chuck to a door leading to a kitchen area, where Cas and Grace were sitting cross legged on the floor, playing with what looked like yarn.

“Hey, Sunshine, Gracie, how’s introvert hour?”

“Hello Dean, Chuck,” Cas shot them both a smile. Grace gave Chuck an apprehensive glance before tucking herself back into Cas’s side.

Dean settled onto the floor on Grace’s other side with a groan, and Chuck, following his cue, sat on Cas’s other side. “So, are you guys really ditching your own anniversary party?”

“Hey, we ditched our wedding reception for a solid two hours-”

“-To take photos,” Cas cut in, giving Dean a long suffering look.

Chuck looked down at the yarn basically tying Cas and Grace’s hands. “Did you guys take up finger knitting?”

Cas signs, “No, it's supposed to be Cat’s Cradle. Claire arrived last night with her group, and Alex and Patience gave a tutorial on how to play it, but I confess it’s slightly more complicated that it looks.”

“It's still fun to try, though,” Grace says. She doesn’t quite look up, but Chuck sees a shy smile take over her face.

“Looks that way,” Chuck says. He’s actually not sure how to act with human kids, he realizes — though there was a maturing process involved in fledgelings growing into angels that was kinda similar to adolescence, there’s a difference between a developing flesh and blood person and a celestial eldridge being.

Dean reaches into his coat and pulls out a knife. “Aight, wrists up before your circulation is cut off.”

“It's not that tight,” Grace says, though she and Cas hold up their hands anyway. Gently, Dean cuts the yarn away from their wrists. They all lean into each other and Chuck suddenly feels very cut off. He clears his throat, only slightly sorry to interrupt their family moment.

Dean gives both Cas and Grace a quick kiss to the temple before hauling himself back up with a groan. “Ugh, I’m getting old. Gracie, age is a curse.”

“It isn’t, your father is being dramatic,” Cas says.

Dean gives him a mock wounded look. “Contradicting me in front of our child? Cas, whatever happened to being a supportive partner?”

“I believe I agreed to support you in battle, not when you’re doing your best impression of a circus clown.”

“You’re the clown.”

“Wonderful comeback, Dean.”

“Only the best for you, angel,” Dean runs a hand through Cas’s hair before saying, “Gracie, wanna join me back out there, or do you wanna hang out with your papa and Chuck.”

Gracie stood as well, dusting her jeans off. “Do you think Patience and Alex’ll show me how to do Cat’s Cradle again?”

“Sure. I think Robbie and Tanya wanted to learn as well,” Dean turned his attention back to Cas, “First dance is in an hour. If you aren’t there, I’m eloping with Gabe.”

“Give him my love on the honeymoon.”

Dean laughed again, giving Cas a fond smile before he and Grace walked out.

Chuck and Cas sit in silence for another moment, before Chuck breaks it. “So you guys are sickeningly domestic.”

“Sam said the same thing.”

Cas picks up another yarn loop and wraps it around his wrist.

“I thought you didn’t know how to play?”

“I don’t. At least I don’t know how to make all the shapes without it getting tangled, but I do know one.” He holds up what looks to be a double-x in a box.

“Huh,” Chuck says. After a short moment, “Grace seems sweet.”

“She is.”

“Claire and Jack found her on a hunt, right? Can I ask for the story there?”

Cas hummed for a moment before saying, “They wanted some ‘ solo sibling bonding time,’” Cas manages the finger quotes without tangling the yarn, and Chuck is honestly kinda impressed, “So they picked a hunt that would hopefully be easy enough without being over too quickly. They found a case where a low powered witch was making people disappear in a small town.”

“Did the witch make Grace’s birth parents disappear?”

“Actually, Grace was the witch.”

“...Wow, that is a _lot_ to unpack there.”

“Jack manages to bind her powers, at least until she’s older. Then, Rowena offered to train her. Hopefully nothing too dark or sinister, but Dean and I will try to support her anyway she turns out. Discouraging her might lead to her rebelling completely.”

“...Sounds like you two have got your work cut out for you.”

“Well, it takes a villain to raise a child, I believe the saying is. She has Sam, Eileen, Jack, Claire, you, Charlie- so many people to hopefully lead her to a good path.”

Chuck doesn’t miss the fact that he was explicitly included on that list. To distract from the emotion that invoked, he picks up the book. “Congrats again on the publication, by the way.”

“You as well. I look forward to reading yours.”

“It’ll be… different.” No siblings, no supernatural, no sci fi or horror. Just a long character study following the relationship between a parent and child. It was basically asking to bomb with his pre-established audience, but it still felt good to complete. “Speaking of…” Chuck pulls a pen out of his jacket pocket.

“Do you really carry that around with you?”

“Your husband carries a knife around with him. Besides, you never know when you’ll run into a fan.”

“A knife is useful to have in our lives.”

“Ever heard the pen is mightier? Come on.” Chuck held the pen out.

“I don’t see why everyone wants me to sign their books. My name is hardly more important than the words inside.”

“It’ll make the fan’s day, trust me. Besides, books are mass produced. Signatures are always unique. Let me have bragging rights over being the first one to get your autograph.”

Cas eyes the pen before signing again. He holds out the Cat’s Cradle in his hands. “Hold this?”

They traded off. Chuck fiddled absently with the yarn in his hands while Cas picked up the book.

“So I just… sign my name, right?”

“You should also ask the fan what name to make it out to, maybe write a little message if there isn’t a super long line to hold up.”

“Alright… Who should I make this out to?”

“Just Chuck. Oh, and Amara. I’ll convince her to read the intro at least.”

For a moment, the only sound was a scribble of a pen. Then, “...Thank you for coming, Chuck.”

“...Thanks for answering your phone,” Chuck says quietly. Studying the yarn, he says, “I gotta ask, Cas, why did you keep answering?”

“...Because you never did.”

“Oh… guess I walked into that one.”

“You did.”

“Wait,” something occurred to Chuck, “if you’re trying to make a point, why do you sometimes not answer?”

“...Because you never did,” Cas actually shoots him a half-smirk. “Also, sometimes I’m busy or my phone’s battery is dead.”

“...Fair enough.” Chuck fiddles with the yarn before passing it back over. Instead of slipping it back on, Cas unwraps the Cat’s Cradle and carefully makes a small loop with the yarn, setting it aside for later.

“We should head back out. I don’t want to miss out on the first dance,” Cas says. He stands, far more gracefully than Dean had earlier, and holds out a hand for Chuck.

Chuck takes it. Before letting go, he says, “I really am sorry for everything, Castiel.” He drops Cas’s hand.

“Chuck, I know,” Cas gives him a smile before nodding towards the door.

Before he forgets, Chuck picks up the book, and, after a moment of hesitation, opens it to the page Cas signed.

_“Chuck,_

_I will not forget the pain you have caused me and my family, but I have atoned enough times to recognize an attempt at bettering one’s self. I am not some “self-hating angel of Thursday” — I am no longer an angel at all. I am simply a human, one with a complicated past, surrounded by family that love me, family that makes me better every day. I am worthy of forgiveness and I am worthy of being human._

_So are you. I promise you that._

  
  


_Amara,_

_Likewise for the above, though I’d also like to thank you for helping Jack where I can’t in heaven._

_-Cas Winchester”_

Chuck reads over the words once before closing the book and following Cas into the laughter of the party.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: sunshine-zenith


End file.
